


of bail agents and bartenders

by kathleenfergie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Boston, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Roommates, literally some shit is so fluffy and cute i want to vomit, super mild lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Roommate Needed: Two room apartment, third floor above Granny’s Diner. Full amenities. Not very accessible, stairs only. Looking for an introverted and responsible human. No dogs. Email: k.jones@gmail.com.</i><br/>(modern roommates au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	of bail agents and bartenders

**Author's Note:**

> this is a cute and casual fic. i like it.
> 
> the only change is that it's set in boston rather than a fictional place in maine lol. i didn't want to have to deal with including all the main characters either. granny's diner doesn't have an inn attached to it, just her and ruby's apartment above it and killian and emma's apartment above that. 
> 
> with the mild gore warning, emma just gets banged up on the job and there's blood mention, so be wary of that. 
> 
> hope you enjoy this because i loved writing it and i love these characters. 
> 
> i don't own anything. just the fish.

_Roommate Needed: Two room apartment, third floor above Granny’s Diner. Full amenities. Not very accessible, stairs only. Looking for an introverted and responsible human. No dogs. Email: k.jones@gmail.com._

“Sounds like a weirdo, Mary Margaret,” Emma commented, pushing the newspaper away. She chewed at her lip, mulling over whether or not to email the guy about the offer. Emma looked up at her friend, whose hopeful eyes were far too piercing for the blonde’s liking.

She tried as hard as she could to downplay the offer, highlighting the cons. Did she _want_ to walk up all those stairs everyday? Was she an introvert? Could she bring her fish?

Despite all that, Emma knew she had to at least check it out. She knew the area pretty well and the crime rate was high enough in Boston that it didn’t matter very much where she lived. Living above a diner could prove fruitful, as Emma was incapable of making a good cup of coffee and eating regularly.

“I’ll email him,” she said after a few moments of silence and Mary Margaret’s stare.

The smaller woman smiled, pushing the paper back toward Emma, who rolled her eyes.

“You know I’d happily let you live on my couch until we’re eighty, Emma, but I want you to have your own place. Live comfortably for once, you know?” She reached forward and squeezed one of Emma’s hands before disappearing into the kitchen to do something domestic. Emma could hear the smack of lips and grinned to herself, knowing that David was probably trying to distract his wife from whatever monstrosity she was planning on baking that evening.

* * *

 

“It’s not too big, but it’s warm and always smells like baked goods,” Killian Jones explained, opening the door to his apartment, Emma trailing behind. “The building is pretty old but all the appliances and utilities have been updated in recent years. Granny likes hot showers.”

Emma snorted and looked around, surveying the living area. There was a small area behind the couch that held a four person dining table. It was a seemingly comfy couch, with several side tables, a respectably sized television, and small entertainment system.

“You’ve got a VCR?” She questioned, eyebrow raised at the relatively obsolete piece of equipment.

“Ah, yes,” Killian laughed, scratching behind his ear briefly. Emma could tell it was a nervous tick. “I’ve still got all of my movies from childhood and so on, and I enjoy them more so than on demand services.”

“Not a fan of Netflix?” Emma asked, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she wandered over to the kitchen, sectioned off by a long island with overhead cabinets. It was all very plainly decorated, but the colours were nice and there was an ample amount of appliances that Emma was sure she’d have to replace in the future. She wondered how she’d explain her destructive tendencies to the guy, but decided to leave the topic untouched until it actually became an issue.

“VCRs don’t rely on WiFi,” Killian pointed out and Emma nodded. “I’ve got a full dinnerware set and utensils, but feel free to bring anything that you have. The cupboards are quite spacious.”

“Cool,” Emma replied somewhat awkwardly. She let him show her the bedroom and bathroom, both of which were rather nice in Emma’s mind. Thankfully she didn’t have to buy her own bed or dresser, as they were both provided, and she sighed internally at the sweet knowledge that she wouldn’t have to empty her bank account before moving in.

The guy, Killian Jones, seemed nice enough. He wasn’t as stoic as his ad and Emma could see him being an easy roommate. She really did need to get off Mary Margaret and David’s couch and this place was probably the best chance she’d get in a while.

“Any questions?” Killian asked her as she was leaving.

“Can I bring my fish?”

* * *

 

Moving in had been a trial. Killian was kind and helped out, but between Emma, him, and the Nolans, there were still too many trips up and down the stairs. Emma cursed the increase in her sentimentality in the last few years. She’d been living in Boston for two years, in and out of temporary apartments, motels, and the Nolan’s couch. It had become a lot easier to keep things when she didn’t plan on lugging it halfway across the country every month.

When it was all done, Emma hugged her friends goodbye and thanked them, returning to her mess of boxes and shopping bags. She’d had to buy a bed set and pillows, as well as her own flat iron and a copy of her favourite mug at the Nolans’.

Thankfully there were already hangers in the closet or Emma would have cried about forgetting them.

She set up as much as she could before total exhaustion called for a nap and some sustenance, stuffing the appropriate items of clothing into the dresser and hanging up the few dresses and fancy outfits she owned.

Leaving out a couple of her favourite leather jackets for the front hall closet, she sprinkled a pinch of food into her fish’s bowl and set an alarm for when she should get some work done.

* * *

 

The first month proved interesting, as Emma constantly entered the apartment, wheezing from the climb, to find Killian on the couch with a novel in hand or movie on in the background. He worked nights as a bartender at an Irish themed pub down the block and did mostly nothing during the day. Emma worked from home mainly, only ever going out for business meetings and bounties.

While internet stalking perps wasn’t her favourite thing, it was always necessary. Killian often caught her at their small dining table surrounded by notes and several mugs with different contents, tapping away furiously on her laptop while her glasses slipped down her nose.

Sometimes she brought the fish bowl out so that Flounder could keep her company and get a little more sunlight than she usually did in Emma’s room.

“Your fish’s name is _Flounder_ ,” Killian commented in their first week together, eyes judgemental.

“Is it so wrong to appreciate _The Little Mermaid?_ ” Emma rebutted, narrowing her eyes.

“Of course not, but it’s a little predictable.” He bent over to look at the fish and pressed a finger against the glass softly. The goldfish swam up to it, Flounder’s mouth letting out small bubbles as she bobbed against the glass. “Goldfish aren’t very smart, you know.”

“She’s got a PhD in marine biology, actually,” Emma quipped, turning fully away from her work to defend her pet. “Goldfish can be taught all kinds of things. She likes to play fetch.”

Killian raised a brow at the idea but ceased his questioning.

He was a pretty alright roommate, despite his loud love of jazz fusion and clear lack of a social life. The two of them got along well; he was easy to talk to, if not a little flirty, and respected Emma’s personal space more than anyone she’d ever known. He also politely pretended not to notice when she came home late with skinned knees and wild hair, both evidence of a chase.

She did find living above Granny’s to be far too convenient, bear claws and coffee becoming her daily vice. Granny and Ruby were nice, too, always smiling and greeting her whenever she came in.

Granny made grilled cheese perfectly and Ruby was nice eye candy. She seemed like someone Emma would be interested in having a casual friendship with, but actively socializing was too terrifying a concept for her at the moment.

Ruby was also a good source of information on the area and people in general, which not only helped with some cases but also finding out more about her roommate. Emma learned most of what she knew about Killian from the gossip loving woman. She’d feel guilty about it if Ruby was saying harmful or overly personal things about him, but it was usually simple things.

Like what Killian usually ordered, how many years he’d lived above them, and how lucky Emma was to not have been there while Killian was first learning how to play the guitar.

* * *

 

“If you touch those donuts, I’ll slit your throat,” a very grumpy Emma threatened from her place at the kitchen table, laptop and papers spread in front of her. Her current case involved a guy who skipped bail and was possibly three states away. He’d left no paper trail, but an investigative officer had found his prints at a crime scene in Maryland.

Emma’s problem was that she needed to find him before the Baltimore PD did or she’d be out of rent money for that month.

“Noted,” Killian responded, coming to stand at her side with his cup of coffee, eyeing her notes and research. He attempted to read her handwriting, but it was a mix between childish chicken scratch and fourth grade cursive. “New guy?”

“Yup.” Emma tried her best to ignore him and stay focused, but her head was developing an ache and her bones were so tired she considered passing out onto her keyboard.

She pushed her glasses up onto her head, tucking tendrils that had escaped her bun behind her ears, and sighed.

“When was the last time you rested, Swan?” Killian asked, Emma leaning back in her chair to stare up at him. He watched her mentally calculate her answer before she sighed again and dragged her hands down her face. “If I guess correctly do I get a donut? Two days? _Three_?”

“I napped briefly earlier, but it’s actually been four days, _thank_ you.” Emma closed her laptop in defeat, crossing her arms. “Have one anyway, they’ll go stale if they don’t get eaten. Not the jelly, though. Granny makes the strawberry ones special for me.”

“Ah, Widow Lucas, what a remarkable woman,” he commented dramatically, taking a sip of his coffee. “You really should go sleep.”

Emma glared at him; she didn’t like being told what to do and especially hated coddling. However, she knew that if she didn’t get up from her chair soon that it would become a part of her.

“I can’t, I have to drive to Baltimore tonight and if I go to bed I’ll sleep for six weeks.”

“You’re going to drive seven hours on no sleep? You’re mad.” Killian set his mug down and held out a hand. “Come, at least watch a movie with me and relax a little.”

“Killian,” Emma began, looking at his hand warily. “I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’ll not let you become one with our kitchen table, Swan,” he said, raising a challenging brow.

Eventually, she groaned and took his unnecessary hand, letting him help her stand up. Almost all of her bones popped as she stretched and Killian winced, staring at Emma in concern. She followed him to the couch, plopping herself down and dragging a throw blanket over her legs.

Emma leaned her head back and lazily dragged her hand across the glass of Flounder’s bowl, which had taken permanent residence on one of the coffee tables. The small fish wiggled up to the surface and Emma’s dropped a finger into the water, letting the small fish mouth at it.

“Are you petting your fish?” Killian asked from his place at the movie cabinet, crouched down in search of something to put on.

“No, you’re not supposed to pet fish. They’ve got protective film on their scales that human oils break down. She’s just giving me kisses.” Emma smiled at her fish, her constant companion for the better part of the last year. She’d bought Flounder on an impulsive whim in the middle of a low period, when she had just started staying at the Nolan’s. “It’s cute.”

Killian hummed and held up a dvd case, waving it around in a question.

“You want to watch _Titanic_? It’s so goddamn long!” Emma frowned at him, but Killian responded with his toothy, smug grin.

“If it keeps you away from your work, the longer the better.”

“Ugh, fine,” she gave in, settling deeper into the couch. “If you quote every line I’ll kill you.”

* * *

 

“Killian!” Emma hollered, pounding on his bedroom door. She was currently wrapped in her comforter and shivering, the hardwood floors doing nothing to help her cold body. Eventually the door opened to reveal a very disgruntled Englishman in his boxers. Emma was briefly surprised, considering she was wearing thick flannel pajama pants and socks to fight their cold apartment.

The heat had turned off earlier in the evening and the storm that was raging outside wasn’t doing anything to help.

“It’s four in the _bloody_ morning, Swan,” he started, but Emma hushed him.

“I can’t get the heat to turn back on,” she told him, huddling deeper in her comforter. “I’m too tired to deal with it and my room is fucking freezing. Do you have any extra blankets?”

“There’s one on the couch.”

“I wrapped Flounder’s bowl in it to give her some insulation,” Emma explained, hopping between her feet.

“Jesus,” Killian cursed under his breath, throwing his head back in frustration. “I’ve only got my bed set, but I’ve got a handful of large sweaters and a pair of thick socks.”

He waved her into his room and motioned for her to sit on the bed while he searched through his closet for said clothing items. Emma did so, comforter trailing. She set her chin on one fist and looked around the room. She’d seen parts of it before, Killian not too uptight about closing his door, but she’d never seen the wall his bed sat against.

There was a small cluster of worn photos, ticket stubs, a few pencil drawings, and a nail that had several chains hanging from it. She could see a cross, but couldn’t make out the other pendants. On his bedside table sat a framed photo of two gangly teenagers, both in soccer uniforms, with their arms wrapped around each other and large toothy grins. She could tell which one was Killian, his dark features contrasting the other boy’s lighter hair and a mess of curls.

“My brother,” Killian interrupted her observations, promised clothes in his arms. “Give me your feet.”

“I can put socks on, Killian.”

“It’s too early for your stubbornness, _Emma_ , so just give me your feet.” He was semi-serious, but Emma could see the corners of his mouth lifting as she stuck a foot out of her warm cocoon.

“Where is he?” She asked, attempting to make conversation.

“He died when I first started college,” he told her, tugging the socks onto her feet and pulling them as far up her shin as he could. There was an awkward silence as he beckoned for the other foot, his eyes glassy. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Technically, no.” Emma wiggled her toes and dropped the comforter from her shoulders. Her thin tank top offered no protection, Emma’s nipples so hard they could cut through concrete. “I’ve been a foster kid my whole life. David and I were in the same home for almost a year, pretty long for kids like us; two years after we aged out of the system, he found me. We lived together while he started at the police academy and I became a bail agent.”

“Bail agent,” he mused. “That’s so official-sounding.”

Killian bunched up the hoodie and Emma stuck her arms out, feeling far too much like a toddler and not the twenty eight year old that she was. He slipped it over her head and pulled it down, letting the large sweater fall naturally around Emma’s torso. She was already a petite person, but the top drowned her. Killian laughed briefly, reaching for the other one.

“Is that good or do you want this too?”

“No this should be fine, thank you,” Emma smiled and hugged the sweater to her body. It smelled like Killian’s detergent and she mused internally that this was all very cliche and reminiscent of high school sweetheart movies. “Thanks again. Good night.”

She gathered up her blanket and made her way back to her room, turning as she heard Killian flop onto his bed.

“Good morning, actually,” he mumbled into his pillow and Emma laughed.

* * *

 

“You are _not_ taking me to the hospital,” Emma growled at her roommate, hand clutching an icepack to her swollen face.

She’d been chasing down a woman who ran impressively fast in pumps and just happened to be carrying a switchblade. Emma had effectively tackled her and in the process fell face first into a brick wall. The woman had then pulled out her blade and swung wildly, catching Emma more than a few times. Most of them had been superficial, only cutting up her favourite coat and leaving Emma mostly unharmed. She’d been able to get the woman in cuffs after several attempts at her life.

Emma dropped her off at the police station, quickly gave an officer her statement, and walked home with a fuzzy head and blood pooling in her coat sleeve.

“Emma, your arm is _bleeding_ , for Christ’s sake,” Killian pleaded, pressing a tea towel firmly down onto the long gash on her bicep. “I’m fairly certain you need stitches and Granny will have a heart attack if she finds you passed out at the bottom of the stairs.”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” she responded quietly, but stubbornly. “I don’t have the money for that kind of shit and I’ve stitched myself up before. It’s not a big deal.”

“Actually, it is a big deal, considering you could have a concussion and that isn’t something you can just _stitch up_.” Killian’s wrinkled brow deepened as he watched the stain on the towel grow larger.

Emma threw the ice pack down onto the table and pressed her hand to the side of her face that wasn’t bruised, letting out a shaky sigh.

“Shit. _Shit_ ,” Emma cursed under her breath. “Fuck, let’s just go. You can drive my car.”

After Killian grabbed a change of clothes for Emma at her request and a new towel for her arm, he took the car keys and pocketed them. He put the icepack at the top the small backpack he owned so that he could help Emma down the stairs, something that proved _very_ difficult considering she fought against him every minute. It also didn’t help that she was close to fainting when they moved too fast and she nearly barrell rolled down two flights.

On the drive, he made himself watch the road as closely as possible, making sure to glance over and make sure Emma hadn’t passed out, made a run for it or something equally stupid. She sat with one hand holding the ice and the other applying pressure to her arm. It wasn’t bleeding as much as it had earlier, but still concerning, and Killian had to berate her when she tried to pick at the wound.

It got worse at the emergency room.

Between people assuming Killian was her husband and Emma’s constant near panic attacks, it was a trying experience. The nurses almost had to wrestle Emma into the hospital bed, the blonde refusing to cooperate.

Killian watched it all very silently, helping when he could. The hospital had called David, Emma’s emergency contact, but he wasn’t picking up, causing Emma even more stress.

After it all, Emma ended up with twenty three stitches in her arm, a bandage over the cuts on her forehead, and a grade two concussion. She was released with a prescription for pain medicine and instructions to rest for two weeks, something that Killian knew his roommate had no plan on doing.

He helped her back to the car and drove home, stopping to tap on the front door of Granny’s, locked due to the early hour. Emma started to question the action, but soon Ruby’s face popped into view and she ushered them in, tenderly hugging Emma and smiling at Killian. Her face was clear of her usual makeup and it was strange to see her unpainted.

“Granny’s got grilled cheese on for you, darling,” she told Emma and led her to a booth, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “I’ll get you some hot chocolate, too. Killian?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, sitting across from Emma, trying hard not to stare at the tired woman. “How are you feeling?

“Pretty shitty, actually, thank you for asking.”

“Well, even if your head’s a little misshapen, your humour has remained intact.” Emma laughed despite the pain and pressing headache she had. She had to remind herself over and over internally to ask Ruby for water so that she could take her pain meds. “Really, though, Swan. I thought you were going to _strangle_ several nurses.”

“I don’t like hospitals,” she muttered, leaning into her seat and crossing her arms.

“I gathered that.”

Emma offered no further explanation and Killian didn’t attempt to probe any more information out of her.

“You know that I’m home all morning and in the early afternoon. Please feel free to ask me for anything.” Kilian watched her sneer at the idea and held up a hand. “Either you ask for help, Emma, or you risk landing yourself back in the hospital. We both know how much you’ll enjoy that.”

“Jesus. _Fine_ ,” she groaned. “No jokes about ‘playing doctor,’ though.

“I’m already dreading Hurricane Mary Margaret. Both her and David have left me voicemails, even after I sent them texts saying everything was fine.”

“Would you be more comfortable staying with them? I could drive you over.”

While both roommates were friendly and enjoyed each other’s company, they weren’t too close and Killian knew that Emma wouldn’t appreciate him overstepping boundaries. She very rarely shared the serious, intimate parts of herself and he didn’t want her to retreat any farther into herself.

“God, no.” Emma looked down at table and traced the fake wood grain with her eyes, sighing. “You’re bringing me a jelly donut every day, though. If you don’t, I’m scooting my ass down those stairs myself.”

* * *

 

Killian had experienced a lot of terrifying things in his life, but waking up to the beeping of a fire alarm and the smell of smoke was not usually one of them. He flew out of bed, managed to wrangle a shirt over his head, and ran out of his room toward the smell.

It probably wasn’t a fire, but he knew Emma wasn’t Julia Child when it came to culinary skills and he didn’t trust her not to injure herself on their simple appliances, which she held a particular hate toward. Especially after the time she tore open the microwave with nothing but a screwdriver and a paring knife.

“Nothing’s on fire!” Emma yelped repeatedly as he came into view, wafting the smoke out the window with a tea towel.

He looked around to assess the damage and found the open oven with what looked to be a very dark, burned cake. Killian grabbed the oven mitts and extracted it from the still hazy oven, placing it on the stovetop. He cleared the oven of its smog and closed the door, turning back to a very pink Emma, who was still waving the towel around.

“I’m really sorry to wake you,” she said sheepishly.

“It’s fine. Just startled me, Swan.” He eyed the cake and raised a brow at the blonde, whose blush deepened.

“Ruby may have let slip that it was your birthday when I went down to grab breakfast,” she explained, wringing her hands. “You’ve never really mentioned having any close friends or family and I just thought it’d be nice to have someone to celebrate with.”

“It’s not a very special occasion,” he replied, embarrassed. Emma watched him lift an arm to scratch behind his ear and she began to worry her lip. He was nervous, which could mean all sorts of things. She looked down at her clasped hands, shrugging.

“I’ve only ever celebrated a third of my birthdays,” she said quietly, looking up at him shyly through her lashes.

They stood staring at each other for a few moments before Killian smiled and scratched his ear again.

“Let’s go get something from Granny’s, yeah?” He offered, tilting his head in the general direction of the front door. “We can tell Ruby all about how you almost killed the apartment on my birthday.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Emma growled, the tension in her entire body gone. She laughed as he held up his hands, backing away slowly. “Go put some pants on, you’ll scare away the regulars.”

* * *

“Did they find the killer?” Emma mumbled from her sprawled position across from Killian, face planted in a pillow. Her feet were on top of Killian’s lap and she nudged his stomach with one.

“Ah, no,” he responded, hand resting on her leg. “It’s part of a very drawn out and pointless arc. I’m quite certain is doesn’t end until the season finale.”

“Bummer,” Emma said, yawning. She turned her body so that she could look at him, eyes hazy with sand in the corners. “Did you eat all the popcorn?”

“Yes,” Killian laughed and switched the television off. “I can make more, if you’d like.”

Emma let out a low hum, shaking her head before snuggling deeper into the couch and throw blanket. Killian stood up and held out a hand.

“Come, love, you’ll throw your back out if you sleep on the couch all night.”

“You’re wrong. I, unlike you, am young and spry.” She watched him light up with a smile, rolling his eyes, and she offered him a small one in return. He was right, Emma knew that, but she was far too lazy to get up and make the journey to her bed. Yawning again, she threw the blanket off dramatically and spread her arms out. “Carry me.”

Despite the request being a joke, Emma soon found herself swung over Killian’s shoulder, in a very ungraceful fireman carry. She let out an involuntary squeal at the sudden movement and pounded a fist against the laughing man’s back.

“You’re an ass, Killian Jones.”

“Does an ass carry a fair maiden to her bed?” He asked, traveling through the living room and into her bedroom. Emma hit him one more time before being plopped down onto her mattress, red faced and disgruntled. Killian was still smiling widely, dimples and all, as he bowed.

Emma shook her head and sighed up at the ceiling.

“Thank you, kind sir. Are you coming to bed or not?” She patted the space beside her and began to remove all unnecessary clothing items. Killian darted out of the room to shut off all the lights and Emma heard him quietly say goodnight to Flounder, something that made her snicker into one hand.

He reentered her bedroom and stripped down to his boxers, climbing in next to Emma.

“Have any dragons to chase tomorrow?” Killian asked, pulling the covers over the both of them and flipped onto his side. Emma had her hair pulled into a disastrous bun and there were tendrils everywhere. He brushed a few off of her face and grinned.

“Nope,” she said. “I had a job but one of the guys who works for my agency spotted his client in a coffee shop. Idiot.”

“Indeed,” Killian agreed. He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her cheek, humming in content. “You have popcorn butter on your face, Swan.”

“Don’t throw so much at me next time, asshole,” she defended, pushing his face away. “Any and all future acne is your fault.” Her tone was serious but Killian could see the sparkle in her eye that gave her away. He kissed her again, trailing his lips down her cheeks and neck, pecking loudly as she giggled.

He disappeared under the blanket and Emma let out a squawk in protest, his rough stubble tickling her arms and the curve of her waist, where he was currently placing kisses. He quite enjoyed torturing her like this and she complained heavily, despite loving his silly ways. She could hear his muffled snickering from his place behind her knee and it took everything in her body not to flinch violently and damage part of his body. She called his name desperately, out of breath from seizing laughter and he finally popped up, grinning madly.

“Goodnight, Swan,” he said deviously, reaching over to flick the lamp off. Emma turned and settled against him, his breath in her ear. He gave her one last kiss on the cheek and she smiled into the darkness of her room as his arm went around her middle.

“Goodnight, Killian.”

* * *

“Who’s that?” Killian asked, nodding his head toward the boy in the frame. He was placed next to a fierce looking brunette, her arm placed around his small form. The photo looked very professional and posed, but he could see the warmth despite that.

“Oh, that’s Henry,” Emma told him, arms crossed over her chest as she eyed the Nolan’s mantle, fully decorated in Thanksgiving spirit. There were hand turkeys posted on the wall and Emma knew they were made by Mary Margaret’s kindergarteners, the paper messily painted and jagged. Each of their names were written in MM’s neat script and it made Emma smile. “He’s Mary Margaret’s nephew. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Killian inquired further, sipping his glass of rum.

“Regina was Mary Margaret’s stepmother for a number of years. Her father married a young woman so that MM could have a mother figure, but because of the small age gap between them, they acted more like sisters. They don’t have the most positive relationship, but Mary Margaret has a big heart,” Emma explained. “From what I’ve gathered, it was somewhat of an arranged marriage and Regina was treated very poorly. When her husband died, though, she stuck around and made sure Mary Margaret was stable.

“Henry is a beautiful child, very smart. He goes to MM’s school and I’ve met him a few times.” Emma stared at the photo for a long time and Killian understood the look in her eyes. He put an arm around her and pulled her close, kissing her temple. “Regina is a force of nature. You’d like her.”

“She looks like she could cut my balls off with one hand,” he observed.

“Well, yeah,” Emma laughed quietly. She reached for his drink and took a small swig, lips pursing. “Blegh, I can’t believe you drink this stuff like water.”

“Says Miss Tequila?” Killian challenged, eyebrows hinting at a very particular night out with Ruby and a very large bar tab. Emma blushed, hand coming up to cover her face as Killian chuckled into her hair.

“Under no circumstances are you to bring that up in front of David,” she commanded. “Part of him desperately holds onto teenage me, who used to stay home reading _Sammy Keyes_ detective novels. I think he likes to imagine that I’m chasing down harmless schoolyard bullies everyday and not well dressed, switchblade-wielding women.”

She snorted softly and sighed, still staring at the photo of Henry.

“I think I’d prefer that, as well,” Killian muttered and Emma jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “Apologies, Swan. I’m quite happy to be a simple barmaid while my knight is out slaying dragons.”

“Shut _up_ ,” she rolled her eyes, elbowing him again, but holding in her laughter.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Granny hollered from inside the kitchen, Ruby’s whooping following. “This pie isn’t going to eat itself.”

Emma looked over her shoulder to find the party of four staring at the couple and hid her blush in Killian’s arm, shaking with giggles and embarrassment. Peeking slightly, she could see Mary Margaret’s warm face beaming, her eyes full of tears.

* * *

Emma’s hand drifted through Killian’s dark hair, nails scratching his scalp softly as she watched him breathe against her. Their bodies were sticky with sweat and Killian’s skin was far too hot next to her own, the worn out man resting in her arms. His hand was under her body and she could feel him clench it every so often, holding onto her.

“I can’t believe our first time was on the bloody couch,” he murmured into her shoulder, exhaling heavily. Emma smiled widely, letting out a soft chuckle.

“ _First time_ ,” she mocked softly, kissing his head. “You sound like a teenager.”

“Forgive me if I’m not as eloquent in this moment as I usually am, Emma.” He brought his head up to meet her gaze and smiled warmly. He looked at her for a quiet moment before pulling himself up to kiss her deeply. She returned it readily, palm cupping his scruffy cheek.

“I promise next time will be in one of our own, very comfy beds,” she said against his lips, thumbing his cheekbone. He touched his forehead to hers and breathed in haggardly. “Poor Flounder,” she said next, humming in amusement. “She’s seen too much.”

Killian leant back against the couch then, rolling his eyes at her jest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, kissing him again. “Yes, I am.”

They kissed quietly for a few moments before Killian pulled away, looking around for a throw to cover their now cold bodies.

“Darling,” he motioned toward one with his stump. “My hand’s under you, Emma.”

She reached for the blanket that had been thrown unceremoniously onto the floor with their clothes and settled it over the two of them. Killian went back to his place against her chest and Emma watched his face relax as he breathed her in. She counted every lash and freckle twice nervously, fiddling with strands of his hair.

“I love you,” she whispered, frightened. She felt Killian’s hand squeeze against her again and he opened his eyes, deep blue breathtaking. His mouth fell open in semi-surprise, but he quickly smiled, dimples entrenched in his face.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!
> 
> ps open and concealed carrying of a switchblade in massachusetts is illegal but simply having one is not. i tried to do as much research on bail bonds agents as i could but the internets sucks sometimes. in this emma doesn't own a gun just bc it was never hinted at in the first season that she had her own before she was graham's deputy.
> 
> also with this fic, i wanted the different sections to get longer as emma and killian got to know each other, so that's why the first few parts are little. if you're wondering where the like really intimate, sentimental moments of them telling each other about their past and their family are, i wanted this fic to sort of be softer and less serious, with snark. killian and emma, while are passionately in love in the show, their interactions are always so gentle and caring and i just wanted to focus on that aspect of the characters. and for you to fill in the blanks and cry a little about the possibilities. i have lol.
> 
> 'sammy keyes' is a book series about a twelve year old sleuth. it's YA but hilarious and worth a read even if you're not YA age. 
> 
> in most of my fics i use 'stump' to describe killian's residual limb, but obv that can be seen as offensive and i was just wondering what other authors/readers who know anything about prostheses would call it. if u do, let me know. 
> 
> after all that, thanks again for reading and i hoped you liked it. :))
> 
> mwah.


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